a cub (for now…)

After I got laid off from work, I went to stay with my friend Charlie for a few weeks. He was one of the first people I texted after the job I loved for ten years unceremoniously let me go with a modest severance package and a “good luck in your next chapter” from my favorite boss, which stung almost worse than losing my job. Charlie called me immediately, saying I should get out of Boston and come visit him.

He lived alone and claimed he wanted the company, but it felt like a pity invite even though we were close. I think he sensed my apprehension and interrupted my thoughts: “Justin. I love you and I just want you see you. We’ll hang out and go out with my friends and I’ll cover everything so you can save your money. It will be the best time and you’ll get your mind off everything else in the world.” I told him that even if I came to visit, I had enough savings and I wasn’t worried about the money but he insisted that I save everything I can in this market.

We ended the phone call on a note of “maybe, we’ll see” but he persisted. I woke up the next morning to multiple paragraphs in my messages about why I should drop everything and come visit him, filled with earnest and almost corny sentiments about missing me. For a moment, I was almost worried about him (was he lonely?). Twelve texts later I caved and booked an Amtrak ticket — one-way so I could come back whenever it felt right.

Charlie insisted on meeting me at Penn Station, even though I knew exactly how to get to his apartment in Queens. Charlie had family money and a good job, but he wasn’t flashy about it. I could always count on him getting a round or two at the bars and every year on my birthday he sent a dozen cookies & cream cupcakes with chocolate French buttercream from my favorite bakery in Boston, the one I took him to years ago and he still talks about any time a sweet treat comes to mind. I hadn’t seen his new place yet, but I knew it would be gorgeous and big-for-New-York. I knew where it was because it was just down the street from a Persian restaurant he took me to once that was incredible.

He greeted me at the station and we took a cab to his apartment, talking the entire way like we always did. One time when he visited me in Boston, we talked over each other in our usual rhythm — excited, finishing each other’s sentences, faces about two inches apart — and another passenger exiting the train interrupted us to say how cute we were. Things with Charlie were strictly platonic, aside from a lot of PG touching and some occasional drunk kissing, but he was one of my closest friends. Plus, even though Charlie was just my type (hot but a little boring, athletic but not a gym bunny, with thick dark hair), I wasn’t his type at all. Charlie loved older men, chubby men, ideally with a belly and strong arms. I have a cute face but a very average body, athletic enough but I spent almost no time at the gym. Charlie hadn’t seen me in person since I started shaving my head and he couldn’t keep his hands off my naked scalp.

I walked into his apartment and jumped on his back while he tried to give me a tour. It was nice, a two-bedroom with a big kitchen, mostly new appliances, everything very clean. Charlie had a great eye for decorating, though, everything almost too cluttered with art and books and tchotchkes that felt ripped from Anthropologie but I knew he’d gotten at pop-up street fairs around his neighborhood. He showed me the bedroom I’d stay in, right next to his, which had a comfy bed and a desk I could use if I felt like job hunting. “But you shouldn’t do any of that until were sick of each other,” he said. “I want you all to myself for a while.”

And he did. Charlie told me to drop my bags and we rushed out the door to grab ice cream and walk around the city. It was the perfect crisp fall, even though it was November and way too late in the year for that. Charlie wore these cute sort of tiny athletic shorts and a flannel, unbuttoned enough to show off his chest hair, and I felt slobby next to him in my crimson hoodie and light wash jeans that were too warm for the day. We walked around for hours, stopping into shops here and there and grabbing coffees and pastries so our hands were never empty.

I was exhausted and sweaty when dinner time rolled around, but we took turns showering and rode the train to a place known for their tacos. Charlie ordered for us after he insisted that he knew what was best there, and before I knew it there were plates and plates between us stacked high with tacos and chips and salsas. I didn’t really notice until the plates were half empty that I was eating more than he was and I slowed down a bit. “What are you doing, keep going!” he said but I told him he needed to catch up. “Don’t be silly, I’ve eaten so much already today and I’ve been here a hundred times. I want you to try everything!” Setting aside that we’d eaten the same things all day, I laughed and kept eating all the delicious things he picked out. We walked home instead of taking the train because I told him my tummy was a bit upset after all that food.

When we got back to his place, there was a box in front of his door. “Perfect timing,” he said as he scooped it up and we walked inside. He unwrapped a gorgeous 8-inch vanilla cake and told me he wanted a special dessert for my first night in town. I laughed that I was way too full for that, but it was so nice of him and we’d definitely enjoy it tomorrow. “Come on, we walked for almost an hour you can definitely eat a slice with me,” he said and I reluctantly agreed because I wanted to see him smile.

He cut two slices, both bigger than I think a reasonable slice should be, and placed them on some cute pink plates that he fished out of the cupboard. We sat at his counter and kept talking while we ate them. I finished mine pretty quickly because I was working against some stomach pain, and I excused myself to go pee. When I came back, another (much bigger) slice was in front of me and I laughed at Charlie. “Put that back, I’m so full from everything today,” I said, and Charlie smirked and responded, “Maybe I’m trying to fatten you up a little so we can finally date.” Charlie always made jokes about his love for bears and it was no secret he’d only flirt with the big boys when we went out. “You’d have to feed me a whole lot more than just this cake to make that happen, you chubby chaser.”

“So let me feed you a whole lot more than this.”

That last retort from Charlie lingered in the air while he stared me down. I was suddenly not so sure if he was joking. “What are you talking about?” “Come on, we love each other and flirt all the time. I know you think I’m sexy. Why don’t you grow a little belly for me and we can see where things go.” “I, uhh…” I stammered out. He interrupted like he always does: “Yes I’m being serious. We’re good enough friends that we can bounce back from things if we don’t have a spark, but I think we both feel a little something. You know my kinks and don’t judge them, and I think you’d look so sexy with just a little belly bump. Let’s just spend the next few weeks eating and kissing and fucking before you go back to Boston and we can just forget everything else and pretend we’re in love for a while.”

I literally couldn’t reply. I thought neither of us even considered the order in that way, and obviously Charlie liked bellies but this felt ridiculous. I just stood there, staring at him with my mouth slightly open, frozen. I watched Charlie stand up, walk behind me, and place his hands on my shoulders. He kissed my ear, which felt more intimate than anything we’d ever done, and I felt my heart racing. He gently guided me to my chair and I sat down. He whispered, “One more slice and we’ll just cuddle for a while after you finish. You can decide in the morning, but I think you want this too.”

And so I did. I ate the second slice faster than I ate the first one, partly because I was nervous and partly because we weren’t talking while I ate. Charlie stood behind me, rubbing my shoulders and eventually my chest and stomach while I ate. I didn’t notice until he grazed my pants but I was rock hard and had been for a while. I finished the slice of cake and he led me to his bedroom, where we both took off all our clothes and looked at each other a while before lying down in his bed. I was the little spoon and he held me in his arms, his surprisingly thick cock grazing against my ass. I leaned in closer to him and he let out a slight gasp.

He was rubbing my stomach and said, “See? You already have a little belly coming in.” He was right, lying on my side after a day of overeating accentuated a slight belly that was bigger than I’d ever seen it, even though it was hardly a real belly. As I started to fall asleep, I heard him whisper, “This is the smallest your belly will ever be again.”

I woke up before Charlie and felt his arms still around me. I didn’t want to wake him up, so I very slowly and gently lifted his right arm and placed it at his side, then rolled out of bed. I looked back at him, naked and happily sleeping, and saw a very small spot where his precum had been dripping. I walked to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. It was the same as I felt last night, a small but noticeable puffiness in my stomach where a belly could grow. Last night was kind of magical, looking back. Awkward and terrifying, but Charlie was saying words I didn’t know I wanted to hear. And if the trade-off for a two-week whirlwind romance with him was eating a little more than usual, who cares? I could always work it off in the gym later, or maybe I’d like the way I looked with a little more heft.

I walked back into Charlie’s bedroom and he was awake, watching me come in. I crawled into bed and kissed him once, then again for much longer while I grabbed his hair and pushed my tongue into his mouth. After what felt like a lifetime, I leaned back and he said “I guess you’ve decided.” “Yes, I did.” He turned me over and positioned himself on top of me, kissing my mouth and then my neck as he worked his way down. He made his way to my balls and started sucking my cock until I thought I would explode. I tried to stop him so I could return the favor before I finished, but he didn’t budge even after I came rope after rope of hot cum into his mouth. He lingered there, licking up every errant drop, and came up to kiss me again. His mouth was still full of my cum and it fell into my greedy mouth while our tongues went back and forth. I meant to hold it in longer while we kissed but I swallowed out of instinct and Charlie grinned. I whispered “your turn” and reached for his throbbing dick but he pulled away. “No no, this morning was about you. You’ll get this tonight.”

We showered together and couldn’t keep our hands off each other for the rest of the day. We laughed and talked just like always, but it was punctuated by more kissing and touching and he kept reaching his hands down to rub my chest. I ate too much again that day, but this time on purpose: Charlie always picked things out for me and I made a little show of eating them as greedily as I could. He cooked dinner for us that night: heaping portions of pasta and salad and bread and I lost track of how many times he filled my plate. I was stuffed.

Somehow, in just one day, I had let go of any insecurities about my body and I was actively trying to get fatter. I didn’t have a moment of guilt or shame. Charlie told me my belly would be rounder and more obvious if I pushed my stomach out all the time. I was used to casually flexing my whole life, keeping my stomach flat and close to my body, but it felt so natural around him to push it out all day. I was shocked that guilt didn’t creep into my brain even once but it just didn’t. I was trying to exaggerate my stomach and make it look like a belly for Charlie and he loved it. After dinner I excused myself to go take a shower. Charlie was a top, but he had a fancy nozzle in his shower for douching and I wanted to prepare myself for him.

When I was finished, I moisturized and air-dried before walking out, naked and hoping he’d fuck me then and there. He was sitting on the couch, also completely naked, with his cock standing straight up in the air. I walked over and grabbed the lube on the coffee table, squeezed some into my palm, stroked his fat cock and rubbed my hole. I crawled on top of him, kissing him while his penis rubbed against my hole, and slowly leaned back. I took him inside me slowly, but he fit like a glove and I had to stop myself from leaning the rest of the way into him too quickly. Once my hole was rubbing against the base of his dick, I couldn’t help myself and started bouncing up and down. I started slowly, but before I knew it I was in a frenzy. While he was still inside me, he grabbed me by the hips and lifted me up, turned me around, and laid me down on his couch so he could take over and fuck me missionary. His toned body was pounding into mine, making it jiggle ever so slightly. “Push your belly out,” he said, and he watched intently as my growing belly inflated and he could see ripples from the impact every time he thrust into me. I tried to change positions again to doggy style, but he held me in place because he wanted to see my chest while he fucked me. He leaned in for a long kiss and continued thrusting, back and forth, while sweat dripped from his brow only my body. He told me he was going to cum and I felt myself close, even though I’d barely touched my dick. Charlie shot rope after rope inside me and I could feel the warmth of it. I felt my own cock spasm and explode over my chest and, to my surprise, face and we both laughed like you do sometimes after great sex.

Charlie retrieved a towel from the closet and wet half of it with some warm water from the sink. He gently wiped my cum off my belly and face and hole and then went back in with the dry part of the towel to dry me off. He fed me the rest of the cake by hand while we were both naked, his cum still inside me, and I savored every bite and moment.

The next two weeks felt like a lifetime. Charlie works a relaxed job from home and he spent most of his time focusing on me. We saw a few of his friends but we mostly kept to ourselves. We fucked and I ate and I drank shakes and I ate more and we fucked more. In just two weeks I already had a visible belly and I was a little scared to weigh myself. I finally did and I told Charlie that I had gained almost 20 pounds, which he said was a “great start.” Our relationship just clicked into place like it was waiting for us all this time.

The shakes Dave fed me were starting to change me. He had these shakes meant to improve your performance while working out and he started me on one shake a day to help me out in the gym. “It’ll be so great for your workouts! You’ll get a ton of energy and really see the impact.” And he was right! I was lifting heavier and running harder than ever. I told him how much I love them and needed to get a lot more. “For sure, man! Don’t do more than one a day though. That’s probably too much for you, little guy. It’s pretty hardcore.”

Well… obviously I had to try. I started downing two shakes a day and came to Dave a week later asking for some more. “Whoa, already, that was two weeks’ worth.” I told him I guess I could handle two a day and he lit up. “You’re kidding! You’re on two shakes already, that’s so fucking cool I’m really impressed. Here’s a month’s worth, you might be able to start upping the intake to 3 or even 4 shakes a day.” I replied that they were pretty filling and drinking more than two before a workout would probably make me feel sick. “Oh man, you don’t have to drink them just before a workout! Stick to two before you go to the gym, and then throughout the day try adding one or two. It helps with recovery, too.”

I was ecstatic. These shakes made me feel so pumped up and confident. Sexy, even. I hit the gym really hard and increased my shake intake until I was downing 4 a day. But I noticed that, even though I was lifting heavy, I was starting to get pudgy. I watched what I ate (clean, tracked my macros) so I wondered if it was all the shakes. I’m not sure it’s worth the trade-off in gains if I also get chubby.

I returned to Dave 10 days after he gave me my “months’ worth” of shakes asking for more. I told him I felt a bit heavier but they were working great in the gym. “How many are you drinking every day?” I told him 4, occasionally 5 and one time 6. “Oh I don’t think you need to worry about any extra chub. You’ll work it off in the gym as you get bigger and stronger. Keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll see better results in no time.” He told me he’d deliver the shakes to my house — a two-month supply this time.

When he arrived, he told me he wanted to try something. “A friend of mine really wanted to kickstart his progress and he tried something that worked great. In one night, he kept drinking as many shakes as he could. The next day, he felt fantastic and he’s never looked back. Just needed to get a lot in his system, you know?” I told him that sounded awesome and asked how many he drank. “I’m not sure man. I think like 10. He said he could barely do it but his friend helped make sure he drank it all and it really helped. Want me to stick around a bit and help you?”

I said yes, of course, and I was so grateful. Dave watched as I drank 4 shakes in quick succession. I told him I was stuffed, that there was no way I could do more. Dave reassured me that I could and that I should get more comfortable and sit on the couch. “Take your shirt off, you don’t want it to be so restrictive. You’ll bloat like crazy tonight but that’s all part of it.” I did and Dave commented on my already swollen belly: “Damn you weren’t kidding! You’ve gained a bit of weight. I think it looks good though, nothing to worry about. Here, start on your fifth shake.”

I drank the fifth shake and then the sixth. I noticed Dave was rubbing my belly and that made me feel a lot better. I told him I couldn’t keep going, that I felt like I was going to pop. “That’s why I’m here man. Just sit back and open your mouth, I’ll feed you the next one.”

I was feeling a bit dazed and did what Dave said. I opened my mouth and felt the bottle against my lips. Dave tilted my head back and I didn’t even have to gulp as it slid down my throat. My eyes were closed and all I noticed was the bottle coming towards and then away from my lips, the cold shake sliding down my throat, and Dave’s hand on my belly. He repeated this over and over again until the bottle was finished, then sat me up and told me what a good job I did.

“I can’t believe I’ve already drank seven shakes, thanks a ton, bud,” I said. Dave replied, “Seven? You’re way past seven, man! Every time your lips touched a bottle it was a new one!” “No way? …How many did I drink?” “I don’t even know, let’s see… I guess I fed you nine? Plus the six you had already drunk — fifteen! Holy shit that might be a record.”

Fifteen shakes. I looked down and saw my bloated stomach and noticed my pecs looked puffy too. I looked huge! “Fuck! It’s going to take weeks to work this off in the gym!”

Dave laughed. “Man, I didn’t say this much would help you at the gym. I told you my friend drank ten and felt fantastic. How do you feel?” “Good, I guess.” “I bet you do, big guy. Tonight just set the stage for the rest of your life. You don’t need the gym any more, you just need more shakes and more food. This fat gut is here to stay, and it’s going to get bigger. One shake a day might be somewhat helpful at the gym, but at higher doses it just gets you nice and fat. I’ve never heard of anyone taking such a quick liking to these amounts! You’re going to get so huge, I’m fucking proud of you man.”

Broken Scale

I started gaining about a year and a half ago. It wasn’t really by choice; I met Dave and he pushed me into it so suddenly. I was a sort-of-thick, sort-of-athletic guy at 180 pounds. He told me on our second date that he wanted to fatten me up a bit. My mind went to that usual thing with couples where they both gain 10 or 15 pounds because they’re happy and comfortable. And I was already so happy — Dave was a perfect match for me. Handsome, kind, a bit dominant in the bedroom. I felt at ease with him right away and I leaned into the comfort pretty quickly. He ordered for me when we went out, which I thought was a bit strange but maybe sweet in an old- fashioned heteronormative way. Before I knew it he was stuffing me with melted ice cream and protein shakes and desserts every day and I weighed 217 pounds.

The gaining had become very intentional. Dave wanted me to get huge and I wanted to make Dave happy. I felt so sexy being that desired, and — I guess I’m not sure if all of that rewired my brain or something — I just loved being fat. It was liberating and sexual and taboo and it reinforced all of my most submissive impulses. I was less self-conscious than ever (Dave has such great ideas).

Dave kept track of my weight and we set specific goals. We did weigh-ins at his apartment because I didn’t own a scale. Our latest goal was 275 by the end of the year, which sounded massive to me and kind of scared me. One night, Dave came over with a box that had a little bow on it.

“Since you’ve made such good progress getting big for me, I wanted to get you a nice new scale of your own. That way, even if I’m busy, we can see how big you’re getting. I know you’re scared about the next goal, so this will help us ease into it more and make you feel more in control.”

I blushed at the gesture (Dave took such good care of me) and asked if we could try it out. Dave said yes and I stripped off all my clothes, even my socks and underwear. Dave told me that any extra weight from clothes was cheating and good boys don’t cheat. I never forgot to be a good boy. I stepped onto the scale and it read 225 pounds.

“Whoa! Are you sure this is right? That’s a little higher than I expected,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m sure it is. My scale is an old piece of shit, so it must’ve been off by 5 pounds or whatever.”

“Oh wow. I guess that’s kind of a milestone for me.”

“You’re doing so good, babe. I can’t wait to see you with another 50 pounds soon.”

Dave told me I should only weigh myself once a week: Friday mornings when I wake up. Otherwise I’d get obsessive or misjudge my progress. Weight can fluctuate a bit day-to-day. Of course I listened and ate even more than usual all week. I woke up Friday morning giddy to see the bigger number on the scale.

“225 exactly. That’s so odd, I was sure I gained a pound or two. Fuck.”

I told Dave my new (same) weight and he was also disappointed. “You need to eat more this week, and add a few more shakes in there. I want to see 227 at least by next Friday.”

And so I did. I stuffed myself to the point of exhaustion every day, including a few days with Dave. He rubbed my huge belly after I ate with him and he told me he could tell my efforts were working.

The next Friday morning, I stepped on the scale and it read the same thing. I looked in the mirror and saw a whale: puffy tits, a protruding belly that I loved to rub. I called Dave and told him it had to be broken because I had tried so hard all week to gain more than usual. His tone was more even than last week.

“It’s not broken, I tried it myself and it read my weight perfectly,” he said. “I know what’s happening. You reached a plateau. It’s really normal for gainers, you might not budge your weight for a few more weeks. You just have to keep going and push through and then the gains will happen really fast. You’ll see.”

I felt reassured (Dave is always right). I was so invested in gaining that I wanted to number to read 275 already, even though it still scared me a little. Honestly, this “plateau” made me even more determined and I ate constantly the next week. Friday morning came, I was still 225. I doubled down, ate more, still weighed 225. A month went by with the same results and I told Dave how I was feeling.

“I’m eating way more than I was before. At least two shakes every day, sometimes three or four. Eating huge meals, snacking through the day. I stopped exercising completely. I don’t know why my weight isn’t going up.” I absent-mindedly rubbed my belly while I was talking, comforted by the soft mass of rolls under my shirt.

“It’s ok! How you look and feel is the most important thing. You honestly look a lot bigger, I think your body is just getting used to the weight and distributing things a bit more. Look at your belly, it’s round as fuck and poking out pretty far! The scale will move eventually, we just have to keep trying as hard as we can. Try to enjoy it instead of stressing.”

He was right, of course (Dave is always right). I calmed down but stayed determined as hell to move the numbers on that scale. I’d go entire weekends without leaving the house, ordering tons of food and filling up until I almost felt sick. I felt myself getting bigger. My jeans (which I bought when I weighed 215 because my last ones were too small) felt so tight and I could barely button them up. My belly poked out under my shirts. My friends were commenting on my body more than ever (one keeps calling me “big bear”).

At this point it had been… 2 months? 3 months? since Dave got me my new scale. I looked at a photo from around that time and my jaw dropped. When things happen gradually, you don’t always notice the details. But I saw the comparison to what I looked like then and it the change was drastic. I thought “there’s no way” and stripped off my clothes to weigh myself. Still 225. I had a moment of doubt and grabbed my heavy cast iron skillet from the kitchen, which I knew weighed about 8 pounds. I held it in my arms and stepped back onto the scale.

225.

This confirmed everything for me. The scale was wrong and it probably had been the entire time. I felt a wave of relief followed by this unbridled emotion I couldn’t identify. I was crying but I wasn’t sure why. Just relief? Anger? Fear at what I really weighed now? It was all at once and I couldn’t pinpoint it. I ordered an Uber to Dave’s place, scale in hand and tears still streaming down my face.

Dave greeted me with confusion and concern. “Oh my god. What’s wrong?! What happened?”

I told him everything. “I don’t know why I’m crying, I guess I’m just confused and feel stupid. Who even knows what I weigh now.”

Dave took it all in, sat back, and laughed. I stopped crying immediately out of surprise. “Finally!” he said. “That took so long for you to figure out, I was waiting for you to realize. It was just a little joke.”

“Joke? What are you talking about?”

“It’s a prank scale, it’ll always read 225 no matter what. You were starting to slow down on the gaining and you were so scared about the next goal, so I figured this was the best way to keep you on track. And it worked! Look at how much bigger you’ve gotten over the past few months. No way would you have made this kind of progress without that scale.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was totally stunned into silence. He was right, of course (Dave is always right). But I was still left with no clue what I weighed and his prank felt like a betrayal.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Let’s see what you really weigh now.” He took me to his bathroom scale and I stripped off all my clothes, my bigger-than-ever belly spilling out of my shorts when they dropped. I was scared to look down when I stepped onto the scale, so I looked straight ahead. Dave looked at the number for me (Dave is always kind).

“Looks like we need a new goal soon, kid. You’re at 268.”

…

It’s been one year since I met Stephen. 8 months since he told me I’d be eating more than usual. 5 months since he added 2 Boosts a day to my feeding schedule. 1 month since he started stuffing me until I couldn’t take any more. And today he told me I’d be 300 pounds soon.

One Year Ago

Stephen (who I first met virtually as “S.”) tapped me on Grindr, that little fire emoji notification that I often ignore. I glanced at his profile — cute, but a little far away. No shirtless photos but you could tell he was in great shape. Not much of a bio. I navigated out of his profile and continued talking to a headless torso that wanted to meet up and get his dick sucked. It was 12:30 in the morning and I was getting tired, so it probably wouldn’t happen tonight, but he was only a few blocks away and it was certainly possible he’d spark something in me. Wouldn’t be the first time that I sacrificed sleep for someone’s warm cum in my mouth. I was scrolling through his nudes folder when I got a new message, a general “sup”-type of sentence that I responded to with a similar lack of urgency:

FROM S.: hey J. looking good.

FROM J.: Hah thanks man. You too.

5 miles away. That’s not that far, but definitely not something I’d entertain tonight. S. looked really warm in his photos — smiling, out with friends — and it wouldn’t hurt to have another gay friend in the city I was still so new to.

FROM S.: let’s hang out tomorrow. there’s a cute new gay bar that opened up and I’m going with 2 of my friends

Direct, almost like he was reading my mind. I responded that I was few and he gave me his name, his number, and the time we’d meet up. We both went to bed (sorry, headless torso) and I texted him the next day to confirm — to my surprise, he didn’t flake.

I had low expectations for chill group drinks with a new potential friend on a Wednesday night, but we hit it off almost immediately. There were a few awkward silences towards the beginning of the night, but the buffer of his two friends pushed us through it and before I knew it everyone was drunk and loud and laughing. His friends left at 11, but Stephen and I continued until the bar closed at 2. It felt like the start of real friendship, but we were both kind of cute so there was a bit of sexual tension underpinning the evening. We walked out of the bar and toward my apartment, which took us past the local bathhouse. For a moment I thought Stephen was going to suggest that we go in, but thankfully he didn’t. He walked me to my door and ordered an Uber for himself. We kept talking and he leaned in for a hug.

“Wow, great build on you for hugs. I get you get that a lot,” he said. “Makes me want to keep squeezing.”

Our friendship blossomed and before I knew it, Stephen and I were hanging out at least a few nights every week. We were texting constantly. He told me his type (big, beefy guys) and I told him mine (everyone). We were wingmen for each other, we hung out a lot, and he was always inviting me to dinner. In fact, it got to the point that he wanted to eat out with me 3 or 4 times a week. I finally had to tell him I wasn’t used to eating out so much.

“Hey man, this is fun and all but I have to watch it on the dinners. I’m still in decent shape but I’m always feeling bloated lately.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing! We’re young and having a good time, just hit the gym more to make up for it and you’ll be fine.”

But the truth is, I wasn’t hitting the gym much. I was busy with work and then hanging out with Stephen at night. We’d go out to dinner and stay up late drinking and ordering greasy Taco Bell on the way home, and the next morning I’d log into my remote job at the last possible minute. My flat stomach was getting puffier by the day but I was having the time of my life with a new buddy so I didn’t care much.

8 Months Ago

I noticed Stephen liked to be in charge, which felt like kryptonite to me because I had been exploring my more submissive side. We hung out all the time but it was always his idea: he picked the days we’d meet up, the places we’d go. At bars, he’d order for me — usually something sugary. Even though I preferred a gin and tonic, I didn’t mind the sweeter stuff and it was so nice of him to order for me. At dinners, he’d point at something on the menu and suggest that I’d really like it. He usually got something light — a salad here, a crab cake there — and I ordered the burger and fries or enchiladas. He liked to try everything and I felt guilty not ordering what he suggested, but he’d only try a bite of mine and he really egged me on to finish my plate. My waistline felt out of control and I kept sucking in my stomach and sizing up my clothes.

We went out to dinner one Wednesday night at this diner that only served breakfast food. He suggested I order the tall stack of pancakes with eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, toast, and fruit. I laughed and told him I was going to keep it light, maybe the yogurt and granola bowl.

“I really want to try the pancakes, though, and I’m ordering the avocado toast,” he told me. “Just get the pancakes, you’ll love them.”

“I really shouldn’t. Ever since I’ve met you I feel like I’m gaining a ton of weight and I need to get things back on track.”

It was the first time I pushed back on one of Stephen’s suggestions and I was really surprised at the way his tone shifted. “You need to stop worrying about that stuff and order what I told you to order. You know I’m not wrong. You’ll love the pancake meal. And besides, you look better with a few extra pounds.” Before I could even react, the waiter came by and Stephen ordered for both of us. “I’ll have the avocado toast and a black coffee. My friend with have the tall stack pancake meal with chocolate milk. Is your chocolate milk 2%? Can we make it with whole? Great, thanks.”

The waiter left with her notepad and I laughed, “Damn, whole milk too? You’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you.”

“Yeah. I am. Took you a while to figure that out, kid. But you’ve probably known for a while in the back of your mind.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Stop playing with me.”

“Not at all! I really like having you as a friend, but I like it even more when you eat what I tell you and I can see the impact it’s having on your body. You’re looking so fucking beefy and sexy lately, you just needed a few extra pounds to highlight your best features. You can’t sit there and tell me you haven’t noticed that you’ve been getting more glances at the bar, more guys interested in you these past few months. Dad bods are in and that’s perfect because I like telling you what to eat. You’ve gained what? 15 pounds since we’ve met? It’s looks fucking great on you.”

I felt dizzy. I kept trying to figure out if he was playing with me or if he was being truthful. He wasn’t lying about the 15 extra pounds (it was closer to 20, though) and he wasn’t lying that he was always ordering for me. But intentionally making me gain weight?

“Come on, that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not! Let’s just be honest here. I like making guys a bit chubbier. I think you like being made a bit chubbier. Let’s just be open about it.”

I shifted in my seat and Stephen grabbed my knee under the table while he talked. He had worked his way up to my thigh and just barely grazed my crotch.

“Oh my god, you’re rock hard! See! Ugh fiiiiiinally we can just be honest about it and get you a little bit bigger. I’m going to start increasing the amount you eat a bit and check in on your breakfasts and lunches when we aren’t together. Just until we add another 15 pounds and we can see how you like it.”

5 Months Ago

I was noticeably bigger. My initial 15-pound “accidental” weight gain turned into 25, then 35. My once-flat stomach was rounder now, just a slight convex that was exaggerated by my tighter-fitting pants. I was mostly wearing large shirts now, but even those felt tight to me. Stephen has gotten bolder with my eating schedule, but we still kept things light and fun. He came over for a movie night with pizza and beer, and he carried a plastic bag with something else inside.

“Don’t freak out,” he said.

I laughed, “What now…”

He pulled out a case of Boost shakes. The label read “Very High Calorie” and, in big blue letters, “530 Calories.” “I think it’s time we add these into your feeding schedule. Two a day, ideally after meals when you’re already feeling full. They’re going to give you a really good round gut, you’re going to love it.”

My brain had completely rewired over the past seven months. I used to exercise 4 or 5 times a week, I watched what I ate. But now when he presented me with these Boosts my only reaction was to say, “That sounds great! Can I have one now?”

1 Month Ago

On top of eating more and more, I followed Stephen’s instructions and drank two Boosts a day without fail. I usually had the first one when I woke up, before coffee and eggs and toast or a bagel. I always saved my second for after a big dinner (they were all big dinners by now). And sometimes I had a third one right after the second.

It had been 11 months since I’d met Stephen and I had gained 55 pounds. I went from chubby to visibly fat, the kind where subbing your gut in does little to camouflage your greed and excess. I was less self-conscious about it every day, embracing crop tops and shirtless excursions to the beach. Stephen introduced me to his friends as his “big boy” and, more often than not, guys touched or rubbed my belly without even asking for permission. I had put myself out there as a gainer, a fat boy, a free belly rub for anyone who wanted it. Guys picked up on it and ordered me food when we were out. I never said no.

Stephen started feeding me by hand when we were alone, one hand at my mouth and the other on my inflated belly or my tits. He started pushing it further and further. Even after I was uncomfortably full and said I was done, he’d lean me back and stuff more food in my mouth, encouraging me to eat “just a little more” and then “just a little more” until I felt like I’d burst. Our feeding sessions were increasingly sexual and he often straddled me while he fed me.

Today

Stephen came over and told me to weigh myself. 262.4 pounds. That number felt so big and so small. I no longer felt any shame about being this big, I loved it. I have never felt sexier or more confident. I stayed hungry for more.

Stephen and I had set a general goal of 275 pounds. I could tell he was a little disappointed that we were under by almost 13 pounds, but he knew I was doing everything I could to grow.

Justin woke up in the morning, feeling groggy and bloated from last night. He could feel his dick rock hard and throbbing and a wet spot of precum on his sheets rubbing against him. After a minute or two of dickstraction passed over him, he settled down and let the memories of last night rush in.

- - -

A guy he had chatted with online came over. He was a “feeder,” which I guess means a pervert who gets off on stuffing guys with food before sex. Not really Justin’s thing, but the guy was hot and it had been three weeks since he’d been fucked. This guy, Alex, arrived with a shoulder bag full of food in tow and Justin was a little surprised. Alex had been clear about his plan to stuff him until a belt popped out over Justin’s well-toned midriff, but honestly Justin assumed it was a silly fantasy and they’d skip straight to sex when they met. But Justin was pretty game for kinky stuff and he hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so he didn’t mind a few calories before he felt Alex inside him.

Alex sat down on the couch and Justin started with some small talk. Alex answered in short, curt responses that felt intense rather than rude. After a few minutes, Alex interrupted Justin mid-sentence:

“I don’t really want to chit-chat. Do you want to see what’s in my bag?”

Justin was taken aback but still felt drawn in by Alex’s directness. Justin was a very submissive bottom, even though in real life he was confident and assured. Normally assuming a “sub” role in sex felt performative but he’d been with a handful of truly dominant men where it came naturally. This night was starting to feel that way and Justin got a bit flushed and excited. He nodded his head.

Alex pulled out a few snack foods and set them on the coffee table — donuts, cookies, a foil-wrapped slice of cake. And then he set down a thermos next to it.

“What’s in that? Milk to wash everything down?”

“No, I don’t think you’re ready for that. I brought it just in case.”

Justin chuckled a little. “What?! What could it possibly be that I wouldn’t be ready for?”

“That is a very special drink. When you drink it… something happens to you. It gives you a ball belly almost immediately and adds on 10 or 20 pounds. It’s kind of like magic for gainers. The guy I bought it from told me it rewires your brain, too, makes you want to get huge.”

Justin laughed again.

“I know, you don’t believe me, boy,” Alex continued. “I didn’t either, I’d never heard of this stuff before. But my roommate poured himself a glass the other day and I saw the results for myself. Serves him right for taking my things from the fridge. He doesn’t seem to mind the weight gain though, he looks like he’s growing more every day.”

What a weird game to play. Justin was pro-kink but not very good with imaginary roleplay and honestly all this talk was starting to ruin his sex drive a little. He stood up and offered Alex a glass of water to try to shift the conversation away from a dumb story.

“Sure, lots of ice. You should get yourself a glass too, to wash down the donuts.”

“I’ll probably just wash them down with the thermos,” Justin playfully retorted with a wink.

“You’re not really into this gaining and feeding stuff, are you? I could tell you were just playing along with me online, which is fine, but guys usually perk up a bit in person and get into it.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I’m absolutely down to have to feed me some food before sex. I just don’t have a great imagination for stuff like the thermos story so I’m not sure how to play along.”

“It isn’t make-believe, I’m telling you the truth. I brought it with me because you never know if a guy really wants to kickstart his gaining journey, but I’ll just put it away so we can focus on this junk food instead.”

Justin returned with the waters and asked him to leave the thermos out, still not believing him but wanting to look on board for the game. Alex left the thermos on the coffee table but pushed it to the side, and he opened up the box with six donuts. “We’ll start with these.”

Justin started unbuttoning his short-sleeve dress shirt, but Alex stopped him. “No, you should leave this on boy. I want to see it get tighter on you as you finish this entire box.”

Six donuts doesn’t seem like a lot for a sexy binge-eating game, but by the third donut Justin was starting to feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t really the calories, it was the sweetness of them and the speed that Alex was pushing them into his mouth. He told Alex that he needed a water break and that he wished he had brought something savory in his bag instead of so much sugar. But Justin was no quitter and powered through the fourth and fifth donut.

The entire time Justin was eating, Alex was hand-feeding him. He used his other hand to rub underneath Justin’s shirt and moan into Justin’s ear. Alex was clearly very into this and, even though Justin was feeling what he was also getting aroused by Alex. He looked down and saw the unmistakable outline of his hard bulge against his 4-inch inseam shorts. He knew Alex was hard too because he’d been feeling him over his jeans while he ate. Alex paused to have a drink of water and Justin reached for the thermos that was still on the coffee table.

“What are you doing, boy? You know you don’t want what’s in that.”

“Maybe I do, Sir. Would you let me drink it if I wanted!”

“I bought it for a reason, so yeah I would. But you work hard for your body, I don’t think you want to lose it quite yet. Although given how you’re taking this feeding, maybe there’s a gainer deep down in you after all.”

Something takes over Justin when he gets horny enough. He’s a pleaser. He’s let guys choke him a little too hard and slap his ass a little too firmly because in the heat of the moment he begs them to do it. He wanted to drink the thermos. He wanted to drink it so badly, even though Alex’s story was bullshit, because he knew it would turn Alex on. He picked up the thermos and unscrewed the lid. It was heavier than he expected. The liquid inside looked thick and smelled like vanilla. He held back a laugh as he realized: it was a milkshake. He took a small sip and set it back down.

Alex looked shocked but a grin started to take over his face. “You don’t know what you just did, boy.”

Justin smiled. The thermos tasted incredible. It wasn’t a milkshake like he assumed, but it tasted similar. It was thick, almost like pudding, but it went down his throat so smoothly. He could tell Alex was pleased. He leaned in to kiss him but Alex stopped him. “Just wait a minute. Let yourself enjoy what you just drank,” and Alex placed Justin’s hand on his own stomach.

It was puffy! Justin was no stranger to feeling a little bloated from a big dinner, but this felt a little more pronounced than that. Softer. “I guess that’s what five donuts will do to a guy,” he laughed.

“Not the donuts. I could barely feel this when you ate them. This is just from the thermos,” Alex replied. “It was just a tiny sip that you took, so I’m sure if you stop now that’ll be the only effect.”

Justin played along and reached for the thermos again, downing three or four big gulps this time with his free hand still on his stomach. As soon as he swallowed, he felt his stomach noticeably expand and his shirt tighten around him. (“what the fuck?”) His mind raced (“what the fuck??!”) and he stood up quickly. “What the fuck?” he said, this time out loud.

Alex relaxed back into the couch. “You really didn’t believe me? I thought you did after that sip. I don’t think you’ll want to stop now.”

“I’m done with this game, what the fuck was that? It’s going to take me a week to get rid of whatever this is.”

“Just give it a minute. Sit down. Relax a bit, everything is just fine.” Justin’s mind was still going a million miles an hour but something about Alex was so comforting to him. He sat down next to him and leaned into him, placing his head on his chest as Alex leaned back and held him. They spent the next few minutes in silence before Justin asked why Alex was so into “feeding or gaining or whatever.” Alex explained that fat guys are hot and making guys fat was even hotter: the sense of control over them, the transformation and shock and denial boys felt. He told Justin about the first guy he introduced to gaining and how hot it was that he kept coming back to Alex for more.

While Alex went on about this guy he made fat, Justin started to get hard again. He rubbed Alex’s chest under his shirt and noticed himself relaxing the stomach he had been trying to suck in. He looked down and saw a small roll of belly overhang that wasn’t there before, but seeing it now felt kind of hot. He reached down and touched his belly gently and started rubbing. He didn’t look up at Alex, but if he had he would’ve noticed Alex had stopped speaking and started smiling. Alex watched as Justin felt and then played with his belly with less and less self-consciousness as both of them felt their dicks get harder.

Alex finally broke the silence. “You want some more from the thermos now?” Justin snapped out of the trance his small-but-noticeably belly had on him and looked up at Alex with questioning eyes.”

“I… I don’t know? Do I?”

“Well if you aren’t sure, you don’t have to. I should probably get going anyway, no worries at all. This has been a lot of fun.”

“No, wait! Fuck Sir I think I do want some more.”

“Yeah? Good boy,” Alex said as he leaned forward and grabbed the thermos. “How much do you want? There’s not much left, honestly,” he said as he swirled around the contents. They could not tell there was a lot left, at least 32 ounces.

“You’re right, Sir,” Justin played along. “I could try to finish it.”

Alex held the thermos to Justin’s lips and held his other hand to the back of Justin’s head. Justin opened his lips and tilted his head back as the contents of the thermos poured into him. It felt sweet as it touched his lips but not sickly sweet. It flowed smoothly down his throat and Justin swallowed gulp after gulp. It was incredible, he didn’t want to stop as he felt more if it inside of him. Alex guided his head back further and the thermos up further until it was empty. He gently pushed Justin’s head up and set the thermos down.

Justin felt total bliss. The buttons on his shirt strained and then popped all at once, exposing his hairy growing chest. His shorts got tighter and he rushed to unbutton and unzip them. He heard the waistband of his cotton briefs tear and when as he stood up they fell around his ankles. He was standing in front of Alex, naked, as his body grew. His stomach went from puffy to a full, round belly that continued to expand. His toned pecs softened and looked puffy as they rested on his gut. His arms thickened. His thighs doubled in size. His erect penis lost a full inch under the fat bad that puffed under his belly.

Justin looked over at Alex, who was stroking his dick and teasing him. “Look at you! Big fuckin’ boy, I had no idea it would work this well, fuuuuuuuccckkkkkk.” He stood up and lead Justin to the bedroom, enormous ass up, and fucked him hard. His cock was so wet with precum that it almost slipped into Justin and the extra cushion from his soft ass pushed against him as he pushed in and pulled out. They were both so worked up that Alex only lasted a few minutes before exploding inside him. Justin felt the warm hot jizz and he came hands-free all over his sheets.

Alex cuddled into Justin’s soft torso for a while before telling him he had to get going. “Tomorrow you’re going to wake up and still be this big. Send me a close-up video of that fat belly first thing when you wake up. We’ll do this again very soon.”

- - -

Justin looked down and saw his huge belly while the morning sun shined through his window. He felt fucking great. He stood up and wiped the sleep from his eyes and noticed Alex had left his underwear behind. Alex was a bigger guy than Justin — well, I suppose that wasn’t true anymore, but his underwear was larger than anything Justin owned. He slipped on the briefs and set up his phone to take a video for Alex. He slapped and rubbed his fat belly and it looked huge on his phone. He loved squeezing and rubbing his new body, it felt so natural to him.

He sent the video to Alex as he was told, along with one pleading line:

“I… I can’t wear this shirt in public.”

“What’s the issue? You wore it all the time last summer, I thought you loved it.”

“Look at it! Everything is hugging me so tightly. The buttons look like they’re screaming for mercy. It must have shrunken in the wash.”

“We’ve been through this already. It didn’t shrink, you grew. You ate and drank so many calories every day with the explicit goal of getting big and round and fat. Now you’re fat. You shouldn’t be surprised, you look at yourself in the mirror every day, rubbing that huge gut and admiring the whale you’re becoming. And now when you’re about to step out your front door you get shy? Just because you’re seeing some people you know? No, you’re wearing it and you’re pushing your belly out as far as it goes all day long. Everyone is going to see the spectacle you’ve become and everyone is going to comment on your fat, fat body.”

“I get what you’re saying, but these are my real friends. I haven’t seen them in months and it will be the only thing they notice. It feels obscene.”

“You’ve chosen a kink that you can’t hide. Did you think you could get fatter and fatter, but when you’re in mixed company you’d magically look slim and fit? That’s not how it works, bud. You’re fat and you can’t go back. Even if you tried to lose the weight, at this point… that would be a lonnggg process. And besides you don’t want to lose anything. You want to gain another 20. And then you’ll want to gain another 50. You think there’s an easy way out of this? You’re a fat fuck now and it’s best that everyone knows.

I’ve made a few gainer friends over the past few years, and I’ve gotten especially close to one in particular. He’s further along than me — well over 350 pounds — but he started at a similar weight and we’ve had a lot of similar feelings about our gaining journeys.

I told him that even though I love the feeling of having a belly, sometimes I get in my head about how I look. Clothes don’t really fit right anymore and I feel like my only options are big and baggy (which I hate) or more fitted (which shows off my body too much). He said he used to feel the same way and it’s totally normal to love the gains and still feel conflicted about some of the effects — and that clothes shopping just gets harder and harder.

“The trick is to think to yourself, ‘that shirt must have shrunk in the washer.’ Any time you’re feeling self-conscious, just shift the blame for a moment and you’ll forget all about it. It’ll help you to get past any of those negative feelings and you’ll find yourself refocused on feeling good in your growing body.”

It made sense. I have a lot of clothes that don’t fit anymore and the number kept growing. So I took his advice to heart and told myself “wow I really need to be more careful doing my laundry, another shirt shrunk in the washer.” It’s a kind of self-delusion that you’re aware of and know isn’t true, but it really does help in the moment, kind of like putting on a character. I did this for months, just shuffling the thoughts back into my head and blaming my laundry skills for any fit issues. My gainer friend checked in with me frequently and reinforced that obvious lie (“you know, I hear washing things on cold is supposed to help”). And the entire time, I enjoyed my growing belly more and more.

This past weekend I wore a shirt to the bar with my friend that I knew was a little tight, but it still looked pretty good and I didn’t think about it too much. I didn’t even lie to myself about the wash, I just put it on and rushed out the door. When I got to the bar, my friend was with 5 buddies that I’d met once or twice but didn’t know well. I struggled to place some of them, but I knew a few of them were at my friend’s barbecue last August and figured they were all there.

My friend greeted me with a big hug and we all made small talk for a few minutes before I excused myself to order a drink. When I came back with a gin and tonic in hand, my friend teased me about looking a little thicker than usual. “Skip the gym this week? I think you jiggled a little on your walk back here.” My friend is a good-natured joker and I know from his previous relationships that he doesn’t mind a bigger man, so I laughed it off with a quick excuse that I hadn’t said to anyone but myself. I just didn’t think twice about it. Until I heard everyone’s reaction to what I said.

“Oh yeah, I’m just so bad at laundry I think I shrunk my shirt a little.”

All 6 of them erupted in laughter. It came so automatically and without any hint of malice that I instantly knew I’d said something so ridiculous that they assumed I was joking. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment and I tried to move the conversation along, but they clearly took my apparent joke as a license to openly discuss my weight.

“If you gain any more weight you’ll probably need a whole new wardrobe. That sounds so expensive!”

“I think it looks great, but I do think you would look even better with another 5 or 10 pounds.”

“I’m just glad you aren’t self-conscious about it or anything, I was dying to say something.”

“Of course he isn’t self-conscious! It looks good on him and he’s clearly trying to show off a little with that shirt.”

“Hey should we order some mozzarella sticks? One for you and one for the table?”

“Oh yeah! Mozzarella sticks and definitely some fries. I bet you would eat a lot of the fries, right?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I could see in their eyes and hear in their voices that they weren’t being hurtful, but I was still shocked one throwaway comment from me opened the floodgates to talk about my belly that openly. All of the attention felt overwhelming but exciting, but when I eventually sat down and my bulging gut looked even more obvious they doubled down.

“Whoa ok it’s a lot more noticeable now. We are definitely going to the bear bar tonight.”

“Oh they’re going to love you at the bear bar! I’ll hold on to your shirt for you if you want to show off your tits!”

And it kept going like that all night. We talked about other things, like the new guy my friend was dating and our other friend’s recent breakup, but somehow one of them always brought it back to my obvious weight gain. We hopped from bar to bar and they even suggested grabbing some pizza and cookies “in case you’re hungry.”

I know I’m a bit fat. I have been gaining for almost two years and I love the results — feeling my round belly when I push it out is the sexiest I’ve ever felt — but I also love that I can hide it when I want. Suck in my growing gut, wear clothes that camouflage my 253-pound frame. Sometimes when I go out in public, I feel totally normal, not especially big.

I think I’ve been lying to myself.

A hookup came over and one of the first things he commented on was my belly and how much he loved it. I liked that a lot and I remembered a very belly-centric photo on my Grindr profile. We fooled around and he kept talking about my jiggling fat, which he slapped and grabbed over and over. Halfway through our hookup I remembered that I didn’t have any belly pictures on my Grindr, just on my Scruff profile which he hadn’t seen. My first reaction was to think “how would he know I have a belly?!”

As things finished up, I put my briefs on and sat on the couch. He asked for my phone, presumably to put in his number, but he directed me to lean a little to my right and look over my left shoulder, and I realized he was taking a photo of me. He said it was fucking hot and kissed me goodbye. I didn’t look at the photo he took until later that night and my jaw dropped.

I wasn’t pushing my belly out, or leaning so my tits looked more dramatic. I was trying to look myself without any exaggeration. I was totally relaxed in the photo and I… looked like… that? The photo showed a massive protruding gut that hung over my briefs. Tits that looked like real tits, covered in my chest fur. Pudgy arms, extra fat under my armpits. A curve where my belly met the rest of my torso. My nipples were soft and cushioned with extra padding. Massive thighs that weren’t even fully in frame.

I started to put on a few pounds and I think my friend took notice. I knew he was sort of a kinky guy, but we never really discussed that. We mostly talked about his artwork and guys we thought were cute. I texted him one night that I wasn’t sure what to order for dinner and hated having to decide.”

“Take-out again? You’re going to have to start sizing up soon if you keep at it.”

“Hah, stop it man. It’s only a few pounds, nobody but you has even noticed.”

It was true that I’d gained a little weight, but I didn’t own a scale and hadn’t been to the gym in a while. Was it noticeable? Maybe it was closer to 10 pounds than 5?

“I’m sure they’ve noticed, but I don’t think anyone minds. You could probably gain a few more before anyone thought twice.”

“Well I’ll just start running again next week, no harm no foul. But I’m starting to get hungry, what should I order?”

“You don’t want me to tell you, it’s going to be a lot.”

Something about our banter felt kind of sexy, the way he was teasing me. I was always a submissive guy and enjoyed teasing, so I started to go along with it.

“Ok you can tell me what to order tonight, why not. I’ve been meaning to treat myself a little anyway.”

“You’ve been treating yourself a lot. Open your UberEats app and go to Five Guys.”

He started listing off everything he wanted to me to order. A double cheeseburger with mayo and ketchup and onions. Another small burger, plain, just to make sure we had enough. The large fries that I knew overflowed into the bag. Two milkshakes. And a bottle of Coke.

“LOL that’s insane, I could never eat all of that.”

“You’ll eat a lot of it. More than you think. I want to make sure we don’t run out of anything before you can’t take another bite.”

I was fully erect. I knew this was a sexual game to him and I was learning fast that I wanted to play along. I ordered exactly what he told me to order, even though I knew I couldn’t finish half of it. He told me to send a “before” photo and he commented on how hard I was, which I laughed off in embarrassment. He continued to text me until my food arrived in a comically heavy bag stained with grease spots. Carrying that, plus the drink holder with two milkshakes, up to my apartment was awkward and shameful, and my still half-erect penis tucked into my waistband made everything feel so humiliating.

“Start with the first milkshake, and eat some of the fries between gulps.”

Before I knew it, I had taken down one and a half milkshakes, most of the fries, the loaded double cheeseburger, and half of the Coke. He texted me the entire time, alternating between encouragement (“keep going, this isn’t so bad”) and teasing (“no matter what you do next week, tonight is going to make you at least a pound or two fatter”). I finally hit the wall with three-quarters of the small burger and a few big gulps of milkshake left, plus a handful or two of fries. My erection didn’t go away and was leaking into my sweatpants.”

“Gulp down the milkshake, that’s a pathetic amount left. That’s easy. Then put on a show and casually eat at the fries, a few here and there, and take a few bites of the burger. We’ll see where you’re at in 30 minutes.”

I put on an old episode of 30 Rock and did as he told. Halfway through the show I reached my hand into an empty bag. I texted him and he was so proud of me — I ate all of that food except a few bites of the burger he threw in and never expected me to touch.

I felt uncomfortable and just then realized I could see the impact of the food on my belly. My skin was stretched tight and bulging at my stomach (belly?). I wasn’t even surprised, just kind of amazed. I knew it was temporary and would be gone by morning (or maybe afternoon) and I rubbed it greedily. The rubbing felt good, honestly — I had always felt a little self-conscious to rub my belly even in private, but the temporary nature of that night gave me license to rub it without feeling like it was my belly.

The night ended after that. I sent him “after” pics and he teased me and gloated. I came. I laid in bed watching a movie until I dozed off, hand on my never-before-this-large belly. I woke up and it was still noticeable, but by the next night I looked mostly the same as before.

Until I texted him again. That very next night. I joked that he should go easy on me but I needed some help again, and I stressed that I didn’t want to binge like the night before. He laughed and gave me another order — a little smaller this time, but still noticeably more than I typically ate. I don’t even remember the restaurant.